Knight at the Movies Archives
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Mickey Rourke returns (good), so does Will Smith (bad) and New Year's Eve gets a lot more entertaining in Chicago (fabu-lush)
Before I Forget, a French film written, directed and starring Jacques Nolot was my favorite gay themed movie last year. The film deals
with the reduced circumstances of an aging, 58 year-old gay ex-hustler entering his autumn years without a smidgen of regret or
sentimentality (it’s out on DVD from Strand Releasing and is a must see). Now Mickey Rourke, bad boy star of the 1980s
(remember how many different ways he bedded Kim Basinger in 9 ½ Weeks?) and more recently a tabloid darling (thanks to his
public scrapes and many plastic surgeries) is back in The Wrestler, a rich character study from director Darren Aronfsky that in
many ways mirrors Nolot’s film.
Like Pierre, Nolot’s character in Before I Forget, Rourke plays a man who has been venerated for his physical attributes. But unlike
Pierre who has learned to leave the past adoration behind thanks to a healthy dose of cynicism, Randy “The Ram” Robinson hasn’t
a clue how to walk away from the intense hothouse of professional wrestling that has given him everything publicly and left him with
nothing personally. As the film opens, the battered Rourke has been reduced to random matches on the indie wrestling circuit. He’s
still a big enough draw to headline these small town events and enough of a pro to give the fans a show. But the money’s not good
enough to keep up with his bills, even with a part time job at a grocery store. Divorced, estranged from his daughter who he
discovers is a lesbian (a bitter, humorless Evan Rachel Wood) and alone, Randy reaches out to another aging loner, Cassidy (Marisa
Tomei), a stripper who seems open to having a relationship with Randy beyond the occasional lap dance and barfly talk.
Then one night after a particularly bruising match, Randy suffers a heart attack and is forced to have heart surgery. The surgeon
warns him that any undue strain will kill him so Randy retires and attempts to repair the relationship with his daughter and move
things forward with Cassidy. But will The Ram, who only really seems to come alive in the ring, truly be able to retire especially when
a lucrative rematch with a former opponent offers a chance to return to glory, at least temporarily?
The movie follows the all-too familiar theme of the once glorious career of the lead character now in tatters thanks to mounds of
egomaniacal behavior (movies as diverse as I’ll Cry Tomorrow and La Vie en Rose have followed this same path) but Aronofsky’s film
(working with the script by Robert D. Siegel) captures the gritty existence the characters inhabit which gives the film a tawdry realism
and helps elevate it. As does Rourke’s intensely emotional performance. With his shoulder length, rat tail blonde hair, collagen
plumped lips and muscular carcass, and his eyes – mostly filled with pain and loneliness – Rourke is a wonder to behold. The scene
in which he awkwardly attempts to hand the daughter a gift is beautifully played by both Rourke and Wood, as is the scene in which
Rourke and Tomei have gone shopping for the gift in a second hand store.
There’s also the lurid fascination of watching Rourke play a character that we imagine hits rather close to home. The actor is winning
kudos for this “daring” feat – something of a last shot at fame; a comeback role that sentimental film-goers will find oddly
endearing. This is where Rourke and Aronfsky’s film part company with Nolot’s Before I Forget. Compelling and watchable as The
Wrestler is, it’s also as sodden and emotionally awash in sentimentality as the girliest chick flick. It’s not going too far to say that
with a gender reversal, this is a part that Susan Hayward would have killed for.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Will Smith, like many great movie stars, is a true acting schizophrenic. The Will Smith that I love – the great movie personality that
has headlined blockbusters like I Am Legend, Men in Black and Independence Day – is nowhere to be found in his latest movie, Seven
Pounds. Like his last venture into Acting Land, The Pursuit of Happyness, Smith’s new movie presents him in Serious Actor Mode and
though he pouts, glowers, has moo cow eyes, and sobs beautifully on cue, he isn’t enough of an actor to give you anything beyond
the surface. Without his patented blitz of energy, his contagious, cocky enthusiasm and confidence, Smith simply disappears
onscreen for me, making Seven Pounds a very long haul indeed.
It’s a movie about death and taxes (yes, really), a phony baloney tearjerker in which Smith portrays a man who plays at being a sort
of friendly angel of death. It’s one of those “noble” dramas that movie stars love (and oftentimes audiences, too); filled with
characters heavy with the weight of regret. The use of metaphor throughout is smothering – Smith fixes Rosario Dawson’s old
printing press but he can’t repair her heart, the rain snuffs out the candles which signals the end of hope and a potential romance, a
slightly out of tune piano sounds on the soundtrack cuing the audience to get out their hankies, etc.
To give away any more secrets of Seven Pounds, be it either the farfetched, calculated plot or the meaning of its banal title would be
to spoil the picture for those who still like a healthy dose of hyper emotionalism in their movies. So I will leave you to your own
devices, tissue in hand, and simply sit here quietly waiting for the exuberant, alien butt kicking Smith to return.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Department of Shameless Self Promotion: Attention land lubbers! In a nice alternative to the bars this New Year’s Eve my alter ego
Dick O’Day is hosting another edition of Camp Midnight, the film series dedicated to presenting “the best of the worst.” I’m once
again teaming up with David Cerda and his crew of Handbag Production players and the Music Box for a New Year’s Eve screening of
the 1972 disaster flick The Poseidon Adventure. At The Upside Down New Year's Eve Adventure we’ll have a jam packed pre-
show, complete with contests, surprise performances, prizes and more beginning at 11pm followed by the screening. And get this:
when the ship flips onscreen at Midnight as Shelley Winters, Stella Stevens, Ernest Borgnine et al are celebrating their fateful New
Year’s Eve aboard the S.S. Poseidon we’ll be doing the exact same thing in the theatre. Tickets, which include a champagne toast
and party favors, are $20 in advance, $25 at the door. A portion of the proceeds will help fund the forthcoming revival of Hell in a
Handbag’s hit musical Poseidon! www.musicboxtheatre.com
with the reduced circumstances of an aging, 58 year-old gay ex-hustler entering his autumn years without a smidgen of regret or
sentimentality (it’s out on DVD from Strand Releasing and is a must see). Now Mickey Rourke, bad boy star of the 1980s
(remember how many different ways he bedded Kim Basinger in 9 ½ Weeks?) and more recently a tabloid darling (thanks to his
public scrapes and many plastic surgeries) is back in The Wrestler, a rich character study from director Darren Aronfsky that in
many ways mirrors Nolot’s film.
Like Pierre, Nolot’s character in Before I Forget, Rourke plays a man who has been venerated for his physical attributes. But unlike
Pierre who has learned to leave the past adoration behind thanks to a healthy dose of cynicism, Randy “The Ram” Robinson hasn’t
a clue how to walk away from the intense hothouse of professional wrestling that has given him everything publicly and left him with
nothing personally. As the film opens, the battered Rourke has been reduced to random matches on the indie wrestling circuit. He’s
still a big enough draw to headline these small town events and enough of a pro to give the fans a show. But the money’s not good
enough to keep up with his bills, even with a part time job at a grocery store. Divorced, estranged from his daughter who he
discovers is a lesbian (a bitter, humorless Evan Rachel Wood) and alone, Randy reaches out to another aging loner, Cassidy (Marisa
Tomei), a stripper who seems open to having a relationship with Randy beyond the occasional lap dance and barfly talk.
Then one night after a particularly bruising match, Randy suffers a heart attack and is forced to have heart surgery. The surgeon
warns him that any undue strain will kill him so Randy retires and attempts to repair the relationship with his daughter and move
things forward with Cassidy. But will The Ram, who only really seems to come alive in the ring, truly be able to retire especially when
a lucrative rematch with a former opponent offers a chance to return to glory, at least temporarily?
The movie follows the all-too familiar theme of the once glorious career of the lead character now in tatters thanks to mounds of
egomaniacal behavior (movies as diverse as I’ll Cry Tomorrow and La Vie en Rose have followed this same path) but Aronofsky’s film
(working with the script by Robert D. Siegel) captures the gritty existence the characters inhabit which gives the film a tawdry realism
and helps elevate it. As does Rourke’s intensely emotional performance. With his shoulder length, rat tail blonde hair, collagen
plumped lips and muscular carcass, and his eyes – mostly filled with pain and loneliness – Rourke is a wonder to behold. The scene
in which he awkwardly attempts to hand the daughter a gift is beautifully played by both Rourke and Wood, as is the scene in which
Rourke and Tomei have gone shopping for the gift in a second hand store.
There’s also the lurid fascination of watching Rourke play a character that we imagine hits rather close to home. The actor is winning
kudos for this “daring” feat – something of a last shot at fame; a comeback role that sentimental film-goers will find oddly
endearing. This is where Rourke and Aronfsky’s film part company with Nolot’s Before I Forget. Compelling and watchable as The
Wrestler is, it’s also as sodden and emotionally awash in sentimentality as the girliest chick flick. It’s not going too far to say that
with a gender reversal, this is a part that Susan Hayward would have killed for.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Will Smith, like many great movie stars, is a true acting schizophrenic. The Will Smith that I love – the great movie personality that
has headlined blockbusters like I Am Legend, Men in Black and Independence Day – is nowhere to be found in his latest movie, Seven
Pounds. Like his last venture into Acting Land, The Pursuit of Happyness, Smith’s new movie presents him in Serious Actor Mode and
though he pouts, glowers, has moo cow eyes, and sobs beautifully on cue, he isn’t enough of an actor to give you anything beyond
the surface. Without his patented blitz of energy, his contagious, cocky enthusiasm and confidence, Smith simply disappears
onscreen for me, making Seven Pounds a very long haul indeed.
It’s a movie about death and taxes (yes, really), a phony baloney tearjerker in which Smith portrays a man who plays at being a sort
of friendly angel of death. It’s one of those “noble” dramas that movie stars love (and oftentimes audiences, too); filled with
characters heavy with the weight of regret. The use of metaphor throughout is smothering – Smith fixes Rosario Dawson’s old
printing press but he can’t repair her heart, the rain snuffs out the candles which signals the end of hope and a potential romance, a
slightly out of tune piano sounds on the soundtrack cuing the audience to get out their hankies, etc.
To give away any more secrets of Seven Pounds, be it either the farfetched, calculated plot or the meaning of its banal title would be
to spoil the picture for those who still like a healthy dose of hyper emotionalism in their movies. So I will leave you to your own
devices, tissue in hand, and simply sit here quietly waiting for the exuberant, alien butt kicking Smith to return.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Department of Shameless Self Promotion: Attention land lubbers! In a nice alternative to the bars this New Year’s Eve my alter ego
Dick O’Day is hosting another edition of Camp Midnight, the film series dedicated to presenting “the best of the worst.” I’m once
again teaming up with David Cerda and his crew of Handbag Production players and the Music Box for a New Year’s Eve screening of
the 1972 disaster flick The Poseidon Adventure. At The Upside Down New Year's Eve Adventure we’ll have a jam packed pre-
show, complete with contests, surprise performances, prizes and more beginning at 11pm followed by the screening. And get this:
when the ship flips onscreen at Midnight as Shelley Winters, Stella Stevens, Ernest Borgnine et al are celebrating their fateful New
Year’s Eve aboard the S.S. Poseidon we’ll be doing the exact same thing in the theatre. Tickets, which include a champagne toast
and party favors, are $20 in advance, $25 at the door. A portion of the proceeds will help fund the forthcoming revival of Hell in a
Handbag’s hit musical Poseidon! www.musicboxtheatre.com
The Good, the Bad and the Fabu-lush:
The Wrestler-Seven Pounds-The Upside Down New Year's Eve Adventure
12-17-08 Windy City Times Column
By Richard Knight, Jr.
The Wrestler-Seven Pounds-The Upside Down New Year's Eve Adventure
12-17-08 Windy City Times Column
By Richard Knight, Jr.
